Of Healing
by TiaKisu
Summary: When accepting the change hurts too much, a message from the past can be a light in the dark and mend what has broken asunder. – A short story about Rose seeking comfort in what little remains of her Doctor's presence, and learning that sometimes what you deem lost can be found again.


_So, I realize this has been done to death and that most definitely there are far better works out there - you should really try out **ninthsgirl**'s "Lost" in this regard - __but I hope that my take on the topic still is worth the read. :)_

_TiaKisu_

* * *

**Of Healing**

She wanders the long and empty halls of the TARDIS aimlessly, lets herself get lost in the ship that has become a home to her.  
Around her the soft hum of the engines travels the air like a song, the tune so often heard that she feels comforted just hearing the sound.

Absent-mindedly she lifts her right hand and graces her fingers across the metal surface, concentrating on the cool sensation beneath warm skin.  
Sometimes, when she does that, she can feel the ghost of a shiver run through her, like she can feel the presence that inhabits these walls and pervades all that her eyes can make out. But today that pleasant tremor is absent, the ship busy with re-arranging her innards to what she seems to know her Lord is now more comfortable with.

New rooms appeared and old ones have gone. Furniture changed just like he did. Everything looks a bit friendlier now she has to admit - brighter colours, brandished lines. Gone are the edges and faded has so much of the dark that he carried inside – the dark that she chased away. And under any other circumstances she might even say she likes it all, enjoys how the warmth that started invading this part of time and space the day he had told her to run now is stronger than ever before, but as her hand falls back to hang limply by her side once more she realizes that she just can't. Can not revel in the new brightness when she paid so dearly for the change.

And she doesn't even fully understand it still. What it means, what he is.  
_Who_ he is, now.

He tried to explain she knows, was so hurt when she rejected the one he has become, unable to grasp that he is still the same, somehow, inside. He tries to show her that he is, tries to make her see that in a way she cannot understand he is still her Doctor. Only that he's not.

He is different, so much less burdened and all the more joyful for it. He's restless, too, in a way _he _never was. Not once hiding his emotions like _he _did. She doesn't need to read in his gaze anymore to know what he thinks, it's written all over this young face that practically bursts with energy.  
He's always moving, that new him, and she has troubles keeping up. Back when he was all leather and quietness she always knew where to find him if she sought his company. Now she hardly can tell which direction he took. He explores his ship like it is a whole new universe to him, and she guesses that in a way it indeed is. New eyes, new mind - he discovers them all with each breath that he takes, leaving her to tumble after him.

Sometimes she wonders for how long she can still follow, how long till she falls behind? Even as she stands in midst the emptiness of the hallway she can sense the world around her shift, erasing what was to replace it with all that now is. And it tears at her heart to see _his _trace dissipate.

To see brown eyes smile where there should have been pale orbs glowing with something meaningful because their owner hid his soul so carefully within.

Oh, she does still smile, too, smiled when she took his hand – the one that is so distinctly smaller now – and told him she would stay. And there are moments when she can pretend, truly pretend that she does understand and that the pain is growing less. But at last these moments pass and then she remembers again:

The terror of watching him die right in front of her. The golden blaze that took her world and altered it - just so, without even asking. The face that regarded her as if he expected her to adjust as easily as he did, falling when he saw the fear.

She is not scared anymore, not frightened or doubting, just sad. And lonely.

She walks on, her pace calm and yet haunted, treading the ground beneath her silently while she searches for something she doesn't know.  
Before her, the corridor is illuminated by a dim but soothing glow and she knows the instant her gaze touches it that she found one of the few parts that have not yet changed. Here, his presence is almost tangible – grand and small alike, protecting and torturing her when she knows it cannot last.

Somewhere in her mind she is aware that she should turn around, not walk the path that will only cause her pain because it reminds her of what she lost, but she is craving for the small illusion that is like a promise all around her. For one moment in which she maybe can make herself believe that he is still out there, tinkering with the TARDIS's circuits as he so often did. That when she closes her eyes, she will just hear his voice.

And so she does exactly that, inhales a pleasant and long stream of air and refuses to look.

Walking blindly now she lets her instincts guide her, allows her feet to remember whatever way they want her to go. Relying on all her other senses, she revels in what is left of the time before, doesn't stop moving until she feels a soft tingling run across her skin.

The quiet whirr of the TARDIS accompanies the peculiar sensation, lets her hold her breath for only a second before she releases it again and dares to learn where she is.

Her hazel eyes widen as upon their opening they perceive the image of a door that only so seldom she has stepped through.  
Tall and dark it stands before her, guards the one place that she knows is _him_ in all his essence and almost she doesn't dare to even touch it lest it might disappear as soon as she makes contact. But there is a gentle prodding in the back of her mind, the sentient ship encouraging her to feel the wood beneath her palms. And before she even is aware of it her fingertips trace the pattern of circles and lines just like they have done so many days ago, retrace the path they have once taken before she closes them around the handle, pushes as carefully as she can until the world behind invites her in.

Almost soundlessly she moves through the gate, stifles the gasp that wants to escape at the sight of what she knew awaited her but which still takes her by surprise.

In this room, time seems to have stood still.

The ceiling, as beautiful as it is haunting still speaks of its owner as if he never left - the dying light of fading galaxies belying the soul that once inhabited this chamber and whose scent invades her senses like a tidal wave - powerful and yet so fleeting - and immediately she can feel herself shiver.  
She is encompassed by all that he was, all that he allowed no one but her to see, and almost she chokes out a dry sob as her heart clenches painfully.

She staggers back against the wall, overwhelmed, can't pull her gaze from the bed that he hardly ever used, and slowly she slides down, relishes the feeling of her back grating against the cold surface because it distracts her from the ache inside. The emptiness is crashing down on her, oppressing her - an emptiness this new him caused and which still she is grateful for.  
Having taken a liking to a room that once served as a small library the new Doctor abandoned these quarters, unknowingly preserving them for her by what he did, leaving it up to the TARDIS to let them stay or make them disappear like she has chosen to do with others. But this spot remained, and Rose cannot help but think she is the sole reason for that.

Her hands fly up to her mouth, covering it, trying so desperately to hold back the cry that forms but just like she quickly loses the fight against the tremble that conquers her body, so does she fail to trap it inside.

"Doctor", she whimpers with all the desperation of a broken heart.

And while she angrily blinks away the tears that begin to burn so mercilessly in her eyes she almost misses the slight buzz that suddenly travels the air around her. Accompanied by an almost silent click it tells her that something is being activated and the realization has her tense up. Pressing herself as far against the wall as she can she curls, waits for whatever it is that she triggered, oddly apprehensive and yet trusting in that no harm could ever come to her where she is now.

She feels her own breath hot and biting in her lungs, struggling with a throat that tightens slowly, steadily and then, suddenly, it catches completely.

There is a flicker of light right in front of her, illuminating all of this room and it grows even as she watches, blinds her for one tiny moment before it dies down; gives way to a face and hands and pale eyes that look at her calmly.

"This is recording number one."

It's his voice, his gruff Northern voice and it has her head shoot up. Not breathing, her heart not beating, she stares at the image, lost and spellbound.

"If this is activated, it means I have regenerated and ", a pause and his gaze softening, "that you're still travelling with me, the new me, that you didn't leave. Which is fantastic, it really is."

There is a small smile playing across his features, carefully guarded enthusiasm battling a too strong worry that has always been a part of him. Concern that he reveals right after.

"I hope I told you about it though, that you didn't have to find out what that process means without being prepared, and I'm sorry if that is exactly what happened. I truly am, Rose."

His gaze is unseeing, just like it was back in the control room when the Emergency Program was playing, his stance upright and so typical of him.  
Every now and then the projection wavers, his countenance distorting in a way that is not disturbing but destroys the illusion that she feels a part of her is clinging to.

She wants this to be real, wants to reach out and satisfy her craving for his presence. But knowing that nothingness is the only thing that will greet her if she tries, she stays frozen to the spot, continues to watch in awe while her hands start shaking.

"You were never meant to have to go through this, you know, had no plans of dying on you, really. But at least I kept my promise it seems, looked after you right and proper, and I hope he does that, too. The one I am now."

He sighs, a little wistful.

"I guess I have changed quite a bit, haven't I? Probably grew a pretty face and became all bouncy, wouldn't that be odd?" An amused chuckle rumbles in his chest and she cannot help the teary laugh her own one produces in return. "Can't be too bad if you're still around."

The chuckle dies and he turns serious again, the colour of his gaze changing to the stormy grey she has seen much too often and that sometimes, just sometimes she could turn back to a rich and bright blue.

"And I trust that I still treat you well, that I didn't forget how important you are. If I did, if I should ever stop to protect you then promise me Rose, promise me you'll go home. The TARDIS will take you back whenever you want it, you just need to ask her. I won't be able to set other coordinates then, made sure of that. Of course though, it'd be quite nice if you never needed to do that. Travelling'd be pretty dull without having you to find trouble everywhere we go."

She huffs in mock indignation; truly huffs as a cheeky grin steals across his lips and instantly she is mesmerized how even with a hologram he can reach out to her, ease the pain that he himself caused.

"An' now, don't look at me like that. Need I remind you of London, 1941? Still got the stray you picked up there runnin' around in my ship and now try and tell me again that you stay out of trouble like I always tell you to."

He dips his head towards where she can only assume Jack must be, feels her own one shake in something that despite her inner turmoil is close to amusement. Teasing, challenging, perhaps even gentle chastising – she can hear them all in what he says, listens in wonder while the mirth vanishes from his gaze again.

"Honestly though, Rose, please listen because this part is important. If I am even remotely like I am now, if you can still see me in the one I have become, I'm gonna need that. Need _you_ to point out where I am going wrong and remind me of who I am. And if you can do that for me, that makes me the luckiest man in a blue box that there ever was."

He draws in air then, glances to his left where she suspects something was catching his attention, keeping her from thinking back to when he almost killed that lone Dalek down in that museum.  
He looks intently at something she cannot see, listens up as he seems to expect someone approaching him. But when she learns what causes that moment of silence she very nearly sobs, gradually loses the battle against emotions that she didn't allow herself to deal with ever since she took the new Doctor's hand.

"Doctor, you comin'? Jack and I are all dressed up an' he says he'll land the TARDIS himself if you keep hidin' in there."

Her own call echoes in that past which is slipping through her fingers each time she blinks, pulls her back to that day which is so long gone – leaving her behind, betrayed and mourning.  
For a second she believes she has to shatter, break into a thousand tiny pieces under the burden that he made her carry but then something about him changes, and she gasps as she makes out what it is.

He smiles, openly, broadly, laughs with each and every fibre of his being.

"Oi, don't let him get anywhere near the console and be a little patient. Won't do if he lands us at the other end of the universe and in who knows what time, too. Am as good as done."

Grinning like a maniac he then turns back towards the camera, towards her, and he lets her see all the joy she brought him - all that to him she was.

"Well, seems like you have decided I've talked enough and maybe you're right. Never been good at that sort of thing anyway", he shrugs a little uneasily, scrunches his face into a frown before he goes on, "but before I go I want you to know this."

The image wavers once more, a ripple tearing across the picture and suddenly his eyes are on her, warm and caring, fixating her, his legs bending until he kneels, arms resting comfortably on his thighs - as if he could see, knew exactly where she is and it reminds her so much of when he sent her away from Satellite Five it makes her recoil.

"It's okay to mourn. Saying good bye is never easy, believe me I would know. But you humans are an incredible lot: so much stronger than most of you give themselves credit for. Eventually the pain'll go away, I promise. And when it does be one thing for me, Rose. Always be this.

Be _fantastic_."

The recording stops, he doesn't say good bye, never did. The voice falls silent but he is still there. That one image that is the last of this file lingers, suspended in time, tormenting and at the same time consoling her. It's that one drop of water which has her dams break.

Violent tremors surge through her system as finally she cries – cries over the friend she lost, the man she loved and the home that he was to her. Cries over how life could be so cruel and over the change she has never asked for.  
She drowns in the healing agony that remembering is and almost she doesn't notice when the door opens, a faint ray of light falling around the shadow that this new him casts.

He stands at the edge of the dark that this room has always been, takes her in just like he does the one he once was. A flicker of pain and of regret ghosts over his face, but it is gone before she can even decide whether it was truly there at all, her vision blurred and her hair shielding him from her view.  
As if he was waiting for her permission to enter he hesitates, releases a shallow breath when eventually she bites her lips and nods her head at his unspoken question. It's only then that he dares to move, walks over to where she is and crouches down next to her.

She can feel the air shift and tickle her skin when he settles, but he makes sure not to invade her personal space and somehow she appreciates that.

"You miss him."

It's a statement and it's obvious that he knows, doesn't need her to tell him. Accepts it even though out of the corners of her eyes she can see how much it hurts him: Knowing that he causes her pain, that he can't make it better because he's the source of it. The new face, the new traits. If he could go back to who he was before, he would. For her, he always would. But this is something he has no control over, something that is out of his reach and the knowledge that it is weighs heavily on him - makes both his hearts ache.

His gaze follows hers tentatively, lost and forlorn – so much like _him_, regards his other self together with her while he offers her the only thing that is left for him to give: Understanding.

"The TARDIS won't delete this room you know. You can come here any time you want. And the message", he gestures towards this him who is all leather and ears, "it will play whenever you need it to."

At first she doesn't respond, just holds on to what once was and what can never be again, but as his words sink in she suddenly turns, hazel orbs wide and searching as she processes what they mean – realizes that despite everything he still knows who she is.  
Her own resting on him, for the first time she ventures to explore those eyes that are so alien to her and which yet she ought to know so well. They let her in, lay bare all that he is, all that his regeneration couldn't change and somewhere in their depth, amidst the amber and the earth she finds those speckles of water and of skies, discovers this part of him that stayed.

Sniffing, she wipes the tears from her now puffy cheeks, strangely embarrassed to have him see her cry over his past, allows her muscles to move and warm fingers to seek out their cold counterpart.  
While they wrap about them gingerly – testing, questioning, once more startled by how although they are so very different they still fit together perfectly - he squeezes her hand in an unconscious gesture, reassures her of the one thing he himself has to believe in.

And as he does so she starts to see what he meant, begins to trust in his words because this is what she always did.

They linger in comfortable silence, he and her, past and present, memories and future, hurt and joy - their presence being enough to each other just like it always was. Accepting and learning while around them the world resumes moving, bringing change and new life where old one faded. Returning this one thing to them that nearly got lost in the wake of the dawn that they encountered:

It takes her a moment to recognize it, to notice the glimmer that shines in both blue and brown alike but once she does she cannot help but reply to him, to tighten the hold she has on his hand and let it wash over her, too: the hope that she has brought into his life.

Somewhere amongst the pain and the longing it rises, and with it she finds the strength to open her heart to him anew, wordlessly promises what she knows would mean an entire universe to him, can give him that because she starts to comprehend that maybe indeed he never truly left. That in a way he is still there, with her.  
Hidden beyond the brown and the smiles and the never ending stream of words, waiting for her to let them be what they were always destined to be, in this world and every other, longing for it just like she is.

And although she knows that it will take some time, that you cannot mend the broken pieces in just one day, she begins to see that she can be just that again. Together with him, _for _him - this that he wanted her to be - a small but precious smile adorning her lips like a prayer, making him mirror it because he, too, understands.

Feels that after all what she has been through, at last, she will be healing.


End file.
